Inevitable
by the moon and the stars
Summary: "And please don't give me some crap speech about how I'm young and naïve and this is nothing more than a schoolgirl crush. Because as much as I don't want to, I will slap you again." / After the almost-kiss on the balcony, Hayley goes looking for some answers. Haylijah one-shot. Post-1x09.


**Inevitable**

**Summary: **"And please don't give me some crap speech about how I'm young and naïve and this is nothing more than a schoolgirl crush. Because as much as I don't want to, I _will_ slap you again." / After the almost-kiss on the balcony, Hayley goes looking for some answers. Haylijah one-shot. Post-1x09.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but an unhealthy love for this new pairing. Contains spoilers up through The Originals 1x09. Lyrics are from "Can You Feel The Love Tonight?" by Elton John and Tim Rice.

**Rating:** T, although I could probably get away with a K+ rating, but oh well. Safety first, kiddos.

**Pairing:** Haylijah, with references to platonic Klayley and Mikaelson brotherly angst.

**A/N:** Because I think most of us (or very possibly just me) wanted a little more out of that final Haylijah scene before the TO hiatus, amiright? Here's my attempt to rectify that. Enjoy!

* * *

_There's a rhyme and reason to the wild outdoors  
When the heart of this star-crossed voyager beats in time with yours_

* * *

Hours later, Hayley's skin still tingles where his fingers ghosted across her shoulders as he excused himself, leaving her alone with her thoughts… and a lingering ache for his return. She fights against the strong, unfamiliar feeling, but it's no use. It's a battle she's already lost. That almost-kiss is seared into her brain, just as much as the man she shared it with.

Reeling from the aftershocks of that moment is exactly why she finds herself so troubled. How can something so… so _insignificant _affect her this deeply? How strong is this man's hold on her if just the _implication_ of intimacy is enough to ignite this much fire in her? Just what is so special about Elijah Mikaelson?

Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait long to go looking for answers.

He moves into the Abattoir the next morning. Apparently after their little rendezvous on the balcony, he went off to make nice with his psychotic younger brother, who reciprocated the olive branch with one of his own. Klaus invited both Elijah and their sister to join him in their family home. It's exactly the lucky break she's been hoping for.

But timing is everything, so she waits until Klaus goes off on one of his villainy outings, Marcel in tow – this conversation doesn't exactly warrant an audience – before she seeks Elijah out. She finds him, surprisingly, in the kitchen.

He's rummaging through the stainless steel refrigerator, carefully inspecting its contents, but he pauses when he hears her approach. Suddenly uneasy, she hovers at the threshold. There's a strange tension in the air that that doesn't belong, though it does match the stiff set of his shoulders. He speaks without facing her. "I'm glad to see my brother at least still keeps the kitchen well-stocked for your convenience."

The cordial overtones of his greeting instantly put her on guard. If she was anyone else, this wouldn't seem so out of character. Elijah isn't exactly a paragon of exuberance, after all. But over the last few weeks, she had come to expect a sort of friendly rapport with the Original – a far cry from the cool way he's regarding her now, with all the familiarity of a brand new acquaintance.

"Yeah, well…" She takes a tentative step into the room. "I guess he finally accepts that the baby can't survive solely on grilled cheese and pickles."

The joke goes unacknowledged, and warning bells go off in her head. Her suspicions are confirmed when he closes the fridge and finally turns to look at her, his face a stony mask. "If there's something else you'd like, I'll see to it that you – "

She shakes her head. "No, that's not … I just – " she cuts herself off; tries again. "So, when's Rebekah moving in?"

Apparently they've regressed to making small talk, and Hayley laments the change as if something precious has been lost and for reasons unknown. She longs to fix it, but feels utterly clueless.

"I'm afraid my sister won't be joining us, at least not anytime soon. As is often the case, her penchant for holding grudges rivals that of even Niklaus."

"Can't say I blame her. Although, since _you're_ here, I take it you two don't see eye to eye on the Klaus issue?"

"Family above all," he says simply.

She ducks her head in acknowledgement. Much as she disagrees with Elijah's skewed perception of his brother, she can no longer fault him for his determination to fix his broken family. It's a reflection of her deepest desire. Her entire life she's been a wanderer, a wolf without a pack, fleeing from one home to the next, searching for stability, for a place she could finally call home and find true companionship. Thus far she's come up short. But it doesn't stop her from trying. She's a survivor; it's not in her nature to give up. Nor, apparently, is it in Elijah's.

He's a saint for even trying, she thinks, let alone persisting. No one has ever shown her the devotion that he lavishes upon his undeserving brother; then again, she can't say she deserves it either.

Still, she finds it admirable, if not completely misplaced, this unyielding faith Elijah has that his family will be whole again. But for all his attempts to raise the dead, she knows from reading his journals that he's only suffered bitter disappointment. Klaus has a particular proclivity for sabotage, but at the end of the day he's still blood, and blood binds, for better or worse. Now Hayley is bound to him, too; to the entire Mikaelson clan. Maybe Elijah was right about the miracle of this baby, after all. Maybe he was right about family.

"Does that include me, still?" she asks, surprising even herself. She doesn't mean to say it at all.

She also doesn't miss the storm raging behind Elijah's brown eyes, and she rejoices inside, knowing those words made it through the barrier. Perhaps a few more could bring it down entirely.

His answer is sincere and laced with familiar warmth. "Of course."

But then, like the flip of a switch, he's all business again. His posture straightens more, if possible, as he moves to make a graceful exit. "If you'll excuse me," are all the parting words he offers on his way out.

She's momentarily stymied by the brush off, but recovers quickly. Before he strides so much as one step past her, her hand flies out and catches his arm, halting him. His eyes find hers, voicing the obvious question, but if he's surprised or annoyed by her boldness, he hides it well. His indifference only serves to fuel her determination.

"You know, family dinners are going to be awkward enough without you avoiding me, so… what's the deal?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "Avoiding you? Why should I do that?" A question answering a question – textbook deflection. She narrows her eyes in suspicion, prompting him to add, "I'm not avoiding you, Hayley."

"Really," she replies drily, "because I'm pretty sure I've built snowmen less frosty than you're acting right now."

He has the decency to appear mildly contrite. "I apologize if I've unintentionally offended you. But given recent events – "

"Is this because of what happened last night?" she interrupts.

"Nothing happened last night."

"Oh, don't give me that. What happened on that balcony was a far cry from _nothing_," she argues. He remains obstinate in his position, though, watching her with guarded patience. But patience is getting them nowhere, so she cuts right to the chase. "We almost kissed, Elijah."

The slight hitch in his breathing is so subtle that, if their proximity wasn't so close, she would have missed it entirely. She's suddenly aware that her hand is still clutching his arm, and she yanks it away, heat rising in her cheeks. He doesn't move an inch.

She presses her advantage, her voice low with conviction. "Holding me at arm's length isn't going to magically fix anything, you know."

He exhales, his eyes softening, and then finally, _finally_, he rewards her with a smile. "You're far too perceptive for your own good," he admires, but his good humor vanishes as quickly as it appeared. "Last night we nearly crossed a line, one that there is no coming back from. Not without dire consequences."

"Saying that we almost crossed a line at the very least implies that there's a line _to_ cross," she points out.

"I'm not denying the line exists," he says firmly, and her heart nearly explodes at the confession. She's been half out of her mind these past few weeks, wondering if she was reading too much into his attentions, fearing that her desire was nothing more than an unrequited fantasy. Reassured, she lets out a breath she never knew she was holding.

But then he takes a small yet purposeful step back, and cool air rushes between them, breaking the spell she's under. "I'm not denying the pull between us," he reiterates, "just the strong probability of coming through the other side unscathed."

"Are you always this optimistic?" she quips.

"Are _you_?" he asks pointedly. "Because I always took you for a pragmatist. Someone who sees reality for exactly what it is and doesn't hide from the truth simply because it's uncomfortable or inconvenient. I've come to find it's one of many traits we have in common."

Hayley takes a moment to ponder the full implications of that statement. He indirectly confirmed her assertion that these… _feelings_ of hers are, in fact, mutual; he declared that they can't act on them; and then in his next breath, he accuses _her_ of avoiding reality? She's heard the 'get lost' speech a fair number of times, she will admit, but this has to be the worst of them all. She expected more from the Original than hypocritical platitudes.

But then she infers which 'uncomfortable truth' he's referencing –_'There are consequences for those that care.'_ – and her burning resentment fades to sympathy.

"Is this still about Celeste?" She hates dredging up this tragedy yet again, but she has to know. "You're afraid that I'll share the same fate, because of Klaus?"

"It's… one concern of mine, yes," he admits.

"You mean there's more than one?"

His expression softens, sadly. "Several, in fact."

She perks up at that, folding her arms. "Do tell."

He hesitates, obviously debating whether or not full disclosure is the best course of action. The phrase about 'inches' and 'miles' comes to mind.

"I – "

"And please don't give me some crap speech about how I'm young and naïve and this is nothing more than a schoolgirl crush. Because as much as I don't want to, I _will_ slap you again."

He fixes her with a pointed look, and she catches the amusement beneath the silent reproach. "That's not what I was going to say. I would never presume to tell someone else how they feel."

She makes a sweeping motion with her hand, indicating that the floor is his to continue without further interruption.

"I admit that, yes, I am concerned that history will repeat itself; that if I neglect to pull my brother back from the brink of self-destruction once again, you will pay the price just as Celeste did. But that is only half of the equation," he explains, "the other half being, as you might have guessed, Klaus himself."

Her face scrunches up in confusion. "I don't understand."

"You're carrying his child, Hayley," he states baldly, and for one horrifying moment, she thinks he's implying the worst – that she's _damaged goods_, albeit in less vulgar terms. But then logic kicks in, and she remembers that's not who this man is. "Your feelings aside, it's only natural that my brother exhibits a certain… protectiveness over both of you."

"Territoriality, you mean," she returns with a roll of her eyes. "I mean, I get that he's a narcissistic control-freak with major trust issues, but – "

He cuts her off with a reproving glance. "I believe his feelings are more complex than you give him credit for."

Frustrated, she takes a beat; exhales. "Look, I'm not trying to stir the Mikaelson pot, okay? I just don't understand why he'd see _this_ – " she gestures between the two of them " – as some kind of conspiracy against him, his heir apparent, or his new supernatural regime." She scrutinizes him, frowning. "There's something you're not telling me."

Elijah hesitates again, before his shoulders sag infinitesimally. Whatever decision he just made, he's resigned to it.

He surprises her by gesturing towards the kitchen, as if it only just occurred to him that the entryway isn't the most convenient venue for discussing such personal matters, and she takes the hint. He follows, and she nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels his fingers against the small of her back, escorting her like a gentleman straight out of a Jane Austen novel. They part only when she reaches her destination, the bar, and she makes herself comfortable on one of the tall stools, swiveling around to face him. He, on the other hand, decides to remain standing, his eyes perfectly level with hers.

"May I offer you a drink?" he asks politely, as if they hadn't just spent the last few minutes digging up truths better left buried.

"I'd love one, but I doubt the baby has my tolerance," she jokes, earning a small smile from her companion.

"Non-alcoholic," he assures her, heading for the fridge. "I'll see what I can find."

The scene is strangely reminiscent of when he made her cereal back at the Mikaelson mansion only days ago, and she takes comfort from the familiarity. Right now, she'll take any lifeline the universe sees fit to toss her.

Once Elijah finishes perusing the selection, he returns with a carton of orange juice and without preamble, dives into the explanation he still owes her.

"The first thing you must understand about my brother is that, despite whatever image he strives to project, he cares more deeply than any other individual I've ever known." He pours her a glass; surprises her when he pours a second for himself. The idea of a centuries-old vampire drinking juice – or anything other than blood – seems so _normal_ it borders on amusing. "How Klaus came to be who he is today… it's a long, complicated story, but suffice to say it originates all the way back in his childhood."

"When your family was still human?" she clarifies, trying to keep up. She doesn't yet see the relevance of this anecdote, but she knows that if they're crossing through deep waters, it's to end up somewhere important.

Nodding, he hands her a half-filled glass, and she takes it for no other reason than it gives her hands something to do besides fidget. He takes a sip from his own before continuing. "My father in particular never failed to remind Niklaus of any perceived shortcomings. As you can imagine, it was only made worse when we learned of his true parentage."

Edgy, her finger traces the rim of her glass. She can relate to this particular backstory. _Castoffs_, Klaus once dubbed the pair of them, the first time they realized they weren't so different, after all. The thought comforts her about as much as it horrifies her.

"My brother anticipates that same callous rejection from everyone he encounters, including and especially his own remaining family members. The moment he suspects abandonment, he lashes out, usually in the cruelest of methods. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Unfortunately, she thinks she does. "You're saying that Klaus believes you're just going to up and leave him? For me?"

"I don't believe it's _me_ he is worried will leave him," he says slowly.

She blinks. The words don't make sense. She gets the distinct impression that she's missed a step in the equation until, suddenly, her brain catches up and latches onto an answer.

Hayley hops off the barstool, shaking her head in disbelief as she rounds the counter; bridges the gap between them. "Elijah, no. There's absolutely _nothing_ between me and Klaus. In fact, it's probably the one thing we actually agree on. It was just a liquor-fueled one-night stand, and not a very meaningful one, either. Well," she backtracks, patting her swollen belly, "not in the romantic sense, anyway. Point is, aside from my role as his miracle baby incubator, he couldn't care less about _me_."

There's a faraway look in Elijah's eyes when he responds. "I was wrong before, we both were, about my brother's intentions for your child. In fact," he adds, shooting her a significant look she doesn't understand, "I believe it to be his greatest fear that his own flesh and blood will grow up despising him, just as he believes the rest of the world already does."

Realization dawns quickly after that, and a rush of anger floods her. This family, the one she's only just come to join, the only one she's ever really known, is already fragile enough without Klaus' petty jealousy weakening it beyond repair. Again.

But then her entire perspective changes when she zeroes in on one very specific word Elijah used. _Fear_.

"Klaus actually cares about her, doesn't he? The baby, I mean." She pauses, overwhelmed. "That's who he's afraid of losing if you and I ever…" she lets the implication speak for itself. "Wow, I did not see that coming."

She marvels at the revelation. Part of her is still convinced that Klaus is just being his usual, paranoid self. He perceives every person and every action as a threat, as an act of war, even something as innocent as her growing bond with his brother. She wouldn't be surprised if he's already convinced himself that she and Elijah are conspiring to steal his child away, raise her to hate him, perhaps even to love _Elijah_ as her father instead. And it would be so easy to hate Klaus for it, for being so dramatic, so unrepentantly selfish… if it's really that simple.

Now, listening to Elijah's defense, she thinks there has to be something much deeper in the mix. Granted, Klaus' view of their motivations is flawed, and he has no legitimate reason to feel excluded, but perhaps it isn't simple jealousy triggering it; perhaps it's his natural protective instincts kicking in, and she cannot condemn him for that. Having recently accepted her own impending motherhood, she understands that pull all too well. It's why she ultimately couldn't bring herself to get rid of the baby even though logic dictates that doing so cost her her freedom and, very possibly, her sanity. It's why she fights tooth and nail every time she's backed into a corner – because protecting their child isn't just their burden anymore; it's their priority. It's born from a bond she can't quite explain, an inherent love, and also from a deep-rooted determination to never fail her daughter the way her own parents failed her. Like Klaus' parents failed him.

Elijah sighs. "I'm ashamed to say I believed the worst of Niklaus yet again. Apparently, history has taught me nothing," he mutters to himself. Then, to her, "So you understand why I cannot fail him again."

"Family above all," she quotes.

He smiles sadly. "Don't forget that you, too, came to New Orleans looking for family. We may be fools, both of us, for holding onto those dreams, but I believe we would be greater ones if we simply gave up, if we substituted this…" he struggles for the word, "_attraction_ between us for the companionship we're lacking elsewhere. We cannot ignore what originally drew us together in the first place."

Incredulous, her lips part and she leans back slightly to take him in. In the span of a few sentences, he's reduced their entire friendship to nothing more than a fleeting, unhealthy co-dependence. And it kills her. Not because she believes him, but because she _doesn't_. By his own admission, the sparks between them aren't just a figment of her imagination. So why is he trying so hard to ignore them now?

Just when she thinks she's finally making progress with this guarded man, he goes and shuts her out again. Just like in his parked car, her fingers chasing his as the memory of his dead girlfriend hovered between them. Or like last night on the balcony, his breath ghosting over her lips in the form of a whispered departure that haunted her the rest of the night. It's always been that way with them: she pushes, he pulls; a delicate balancing act. But she knows they can only hold out so long before they collide.

She's only just beginning to understand the contradiction of Elijah Mikaelson: that an Original vampire who's literally killed thousands of people can make her feel the safest she's ever been; that he can both draw her in and send her away in a single breath; that his words are pure logic and poetry, but at the end of the day they don't mean a damn thing. Because as true as they are, they lack the conviction necessary to keep her away for good. And thank goodness for that.

But right now his inconsistency is anything but endearing, and that's precisely what makes her snap.

She crosses her arms, forming a barrier of her own. "Is that all, then?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You were listing off your concerns. Concerns about _us_. I'm just wondering if there's any you neglected to mention that you care to get off your chest."

He cocks his head slightly, eyebrows knitting. "Are those reasons not sufficient enough?"

She peers at him, no longer bothering to conceal her annoyance. "I'm just not buying it, Elijah. Oh, you've made some valid arguments, I'll give you that. Celeste. Klaus. The baby. _Family_." She ticks each off on her fingers. "I get it. Enough already. This whole laundry list of reasons why we'll never work… it's too much. You act like you're completely determined to push me away, but for all of those excuses, not once did I hear you say you don't want this – " she comes closer; catches his hand " – just as much as I do."

His lips part, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. She already knows she's right, but they'll never get anywhere if she doesn't call him on it.

His eyes flicker away for only a second, but it's enough. Seeing his walls start to crumble is all she needs to push her luck.

"If I'm wrong," she whispers, squeezing his fingers, "just say the word and I'll let it go. For good." It's a promise she's praying he won't make her keep.

It's only as she's waiting on pins and needles that she fully grasps the irony of her situation. Not that long ago, in alarmingly similar fashion, she offered herself to Klaus – an event that, had it not occurred, wouldn't have led her to this one with his brother, offering herself yet again. The two scenarios parallel each other perfectly… in theory. In reality, they couldn't be more different. Just like her relationships with each of the Mikaelson brothers.

The one she shares with Klaus is entirely a matter of circumstances, of sharing a fighter's instinct to protect themselves and their… mutual investment. The emotional ties end there, though. The kinship she shares with Elijah is far deeper, far more intimate – a connection stretching beyond time and logic and fear. Somewhere between promises of protection and gestures of genuine kindness, an unlikely friendship bloomed between the two damaged individuals. She isn't sure when it became clear that they both wanted more, impossibly more, but it's an ache unlike any she's ever known, a hunger that physical intimacy alone can't satisfy. For the first time in her entire life, her heart is on the line, and it's equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

Hayley swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. She's dimly aware that her untouched drink sits just behind her within reaching distance, but she can't bring herself to move one inch under the hypnotic gaze of Elijah's darkening eyes. She takes comfort from the knowledge that she's not alone, that he's caught in the same internal struggle. They are at a crossroads, just as he predicted, and one path will surely lead them to ruin. Or salvation. Possibly both, simultaneously.

But the longer she watches the war rage behind his eyes, nearly on the brink of losing her own sanity, it hits her. He isn't going to take the bait. He isn't rejecting her outright, but he's not confirming her accusation either. He isn't going to risk everything he has on a whim. He has far too much self-control for that. He isn't his brother, who jumped at the chance to dominate her as soon as she forfeited control. For someone as broken as Klaus is, power is a drug, and he's the biggest addict she's ever met. That's why seducing him was a no-brainer. She didn't even have to play coy, not really; all she had to do was provide him with the power-play he constantly craves.

Though they share blood, Elijah is an entirely different species than his brother. His sense of control comes from within, not from subjugating others. She doesn't know whether he was born with the skill or if he's just honed it for the last thousand years, but she sees the evidence in every facet of his being. The quiet dignity with which he always carries himself. The way he chooses each word spoken so precisely. How he serves as a pillar of sanity throughout the numerous trials of Mikaelson family drama, rather than buckle to the pressure and abandon his family. His inner strength is a virtue, indeed.

But looking at Elijah now, she plainly sees how much that emotional cap takes its toll. For him, control is not a weapon or an addiction like it is for Klaus. It's a constant. A practiced discipline. Sometimes a heavy burden. Because right now, his inability to just _let it go_ is the one thing keeping them apart.

Which is why Hayley decides to do them both a favor: She _takes_ it.

Before she can change her mind, she grabs him by the lapels of his designer suit, swiftly guiding his mouth down to hers.

He tenses in obvious surprise, but makes no move to pull away. And after an agonizing moment of uncertainty, knowing his response will make or break them, she feels his lips soften and her heart soars in triumph when he finally starts kissing her back.

His hands find her waist automatically, anchoring her against him, and she thinks to herself that this, right here, feels like home. Without even knowing it, this is why she came looking for him. To finish what they started last night. To start something new and scary and thrilling.

Emboldened, her hands slide over his shoulders and lock around his neck, bringing him closer still. When he responds with a low hum of approval, she teases the short bristles of hair at the base of his neck, trying to draw out that beautiful sound again.

Elijah slants his mouth over hers with an expertise that reflects his age, and it suddenly hits her that she doesn't quite know how to handle this mild rhythm they've established, having never been with anyone who meant anything more than a quick fix. It's a scary, but welcome change. Everything feels deliberate, intense, _deep_. She's not wading in the shallow end this time; she's out of her comfort zone, struggling to find her footing, and she can either sink or swim. Either way, she's lost.

She doesn't quite remember when his hands find her lower back, but when he starts rubbing gentle circles against the exposed flesh there, a sound escapes her that she's pretty sure she's never made in her life. It's close to a sigh, but… more. It's the sound of happiness. She never knew a creature as old and powerful as an Original vampire could treat her with such adoration, like she's a delicacy he only gets to sample once, and he's making every second count, trying to memorize her features while he still has the chance. Knowing the obstacles facing them, it's as apt an assumption as any.

When the burning in her lungs verges on painful, she reluctantly breaks away, panting. She leans her forehead against his, his warm breath caressing her cheeks, and she's pleasantly surprised that he's just as affected as she is. They don't move for several beats, content to do nothing more than breathe each other in and out. It's so simple and yet, strangely, wonderfully, it's the most intimate act she's ever experienced.

And then he whispers her name. She never cared for it much growing up, being so common, but it sounds like worship the perfect way Elijah's tongue rolls around those two syllables. She burns to find out what else he can do with it. It shatters what little self-control she has left.

This time when she kisses him, it's with a desperation that borders on brutality, and a small part of her is terrified that he'll retreat from her untamed teenage impulse. She's never been more relieved to be proven wrong.

He not only matches her eagerness, but encourages it, storming her defenses until she has no choice but to concede; doesn't back off when he's pinned her against the kitchen counter. His body melts into hers, bracing her against the cool surface as he continues his assault on her mouth. She may have started this whole affair, but this enthusiastic response exceeds even her highest expectations. Somehow, he manages to satisfy her need for urgency without sacrificing the tenderness he showed before. It's yet another treasured contradiction to add to her ever-growing list.

She gasps at the electric jolt that surges between them, and when his tongue sweeps her bottom lip, she wastes no time angling her head to allow him better access. She's acutely aware of the taste of citrus before her world explodes in a glorious mess of sensations, and she swears she sees stars. No longer hovering on the edge, they've finally fallen over it.

After that it gets pretty blurry, and the next thing Hayley knows, she's leaning backward over the counter, pulling Elijah with her, and at some point her elbow grazes the surface, collides with something blunt, sends it flying. As it hits the floor, it shatters; the moment along with it. They jerk apart on reflex.

Her eyes snap to the object in question: what used to be her glass of juice. All that remains of it now is a dozen scattered shards, the puddle of its sticky contents coating the tiled flooring. It looks grossly out of place in their immaculate surroundings. Then again, in their disheveled state, they do too.

As clarity starts to descend, she chances a glance at Elijah. When she thinks back on this moment later on, she'll always wonder if it was the lingering effects of desire clouding her judgment or if she truly saw those telltale black veins fading around the Original's eyes. She likes to believe the latter.

For the span of a dozen heartbeats there's only the sound of their labored breathing, until she breaks the ice.

"Well," she manages, clearing her throat awkwardly, "so much for being pragmatic."

"Are you hurt?" is his immediate response.

"What?"

"The glass." He points down at the broken remnants, concern etched on his slightly flushed face. "Did it cut you?"

She shakes her head, still working to dispel the fog in her brain. "Not a scratch." Then, while she still has the courage, "Do you regret it?"

Reality is settling in, and even though he got carried away just as much as she did, she needs to know if he's changed his mind. Even though it's far too late for that.

His chin snaps up, understanding her meaning at once. He answers with absolute certainty. "Not at all."

Encouraged, she speaks her mind, too. "Maybe you were right, Elijah. Maybe this – you and me – is wrong. Maybe it will only end in disaster and we'll have to deal with the fallout, whatever that may be." She's stating the obvious, but it needs to be said. They can't hide behind denial. "Then again," she goes on, "maybe none of that's true. I don't know; neither of us does. But however the chips fall, it was always inevitable, I think. We were always going to cross this line. Why bother fighting it until we both go crazy? Why wait?"

He smiles at her colorful summation, and she feels that familiar warmth settle in her chest again. "As logical an argument as any." Then his face transforms; becomes more serious, with a touch of something else. "Please don't take what I'm about to say as a brush off of any kind," he forewarns her, "but until I find a way to make my intentions known to my brother, I believe it's best if we maintain a… healthy distance from each other. I did promise to protect you, after all, and I am a man of my word."

"Yeah, your nobility knows no bounds," she smirks, and he laughs.

"I can assure you that my intentions regarding you are anything but noble," he murmurs, brushing his knuckles against her cheek.

Now it's her turn to laugh. "So much for maintaining a 'healthy distance'," she teases. "You can't even play by your own rules."

"You have a way of making me forget myself," he admits, and her heart rate picks up at the compliment. It's a heady feeling, knowing she has the power to affect him so deeply. It's a weakness they share.

"Yeah, well…" she hedges, "At least this time you have a legitimate excuse for avoiding me."

The transition from raw confessions to flirty banter is shockingly easy, not to mention welcome. But deep down, she knows stalling isn't going to make their separation any easier.

He seems to reach the same conclusion. He straightens up, adjusts his tie – she notes proudly that it's the first time she's ever seen it askew – and steps away from her. A small sigh breaks free of his composure. "If you're having doubts, it's not too late – "

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," she warns, but there's no real heat in it. "I'm not letting you off the hook that easily."

From the light dancing in his eyes, she knows he's relieved with her answer. She doesn't know why. She didn't say anything they don't both know already. Then again, maybe she does understand. They're entering uncharted territory, and this uncertainty, this vulnerability, is determined to make fools of them both.

"I'll send someone to take care of the mess," he tells her. Then, he leans forward, his breath tickling her ear. "Until we meet again, Hayley." She barely registers a final kiss upon her cheek before the rush of cool air signals his departure.

Just like on the balcony, he leaves traces of himself behind. Her lips still tingle from their encounter, and she slowly outlines them with her tongue, mirroring his earlier ministrations. Fondly she recalls the sweet, tangy flavor of citrus.

She makes a mental note to put orange juice on the grocery list from now until eternity.

**FIN**

* * *

**A/N:** Because it's definitely going to happen like this. I can dream, right?

It's my first time writing either of these characters, and I'm experimenting with some different writing techniques, so feel free to tell me if this completely misses the mark. I won't cry… much. ;) Also, if anyone's interested, keep an eye out for my Klaroline five-shot that I hope to start posting soon. Okay, shameless self-promotion over.

Thanks for reading!


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